by Susan Stoker
Blythe knew at first glance it was Sawyer. She recognized him from when she’d met him at the fire, but since, she’d also examined every photo on his old phone. It was more than obvious who he was.
“Blythe!” he exclaimed as he came toward her.
Feeling self-conscious about her lack of proper clothing, and because of the conversation she’d overheard, she blurted, “Don’t!”
Sawyer stopped in his tracks. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t come any closer. I know I smell. I can’t help it.”
“Fucking nurses,” Sawyer said under his breath, and then he took the two steps required to bring him to her side. He picked up her uninjured hand and wrapped his fingers around hers.
The warmth coming from his palm was amazing. But it was the feeling of being touched, gently, that made Blythe lose it. It had been so long since someone had touched her. Touched her in a nice way, that was.
The tears welled up from deep inside her and spilled down her cheeks as if a faucet had been turned on full blast.
Instead of telling her to hush, Sawyer brought her hand up to his lips and gently kissed her filthy knuckles. “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay.”
Blythe cried harder. She cried for her mom. She cried because she’d lost all her belongings when her landlord changed the locks on her apartment and threw her stuff on the curb, where it was picked through by strangers then rained on before she could find the means to store it. She cried for all the nights she’d been scared and for all the times she’d wanted to simply give up.
But mostly, she cried because it had been so long since anyone had looked at her with as much compassion and tenderness as Sawyer was now.
After a while, she tried to get herself under control. “Great,” she mumbled. “Now I stink and have snot running down my face.”
Sawyer smiled at her. “It’s not all that bad.”
Blythe rolled her eyes. “Liar. Even the cockroaches don’t want anything to do with me.”
“I’m s-sorry you had to hear that, Blythe.”
Blythe turned her head to look at the woman who had entered the room with Sawyer. Sophie. Now that she had a chance to really look at her, she recognized her right away. She’d been so kind to her, Tadd, and Louise before the building they’d been living in had burned down, always bringing them muffins and coffee. “Hi, Sophie.”
“Hi,” the other woman returned. “I’m s-sorry you got hurt.”
“Thanks.”
“I heard Doctor Adams will be looking at you. He’s good. He’ll fix you up in no time.”
Blythe nodded, not really sure what to say.
“Detective Nelson will be on his way here to get your statement too,” Sawyer informed her.
Blythe frowned.
“What?”
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell the cops what had happened, but she knew it wouldn’t keep her safe. Dog and Tweek would get to her again, no matter what the police said or did. “Nothing. That’s fine.”
Sawyer eyed her for a long moment, then turned to Sophie. “Thanks for getting me in here. We’ll be good for a while.”
Sophie nodded. “Great. I’ll just go and take care of what we talked about.”
“Thanks, Soph.”
“It’s good to s-see you again, Blythe. I’m only s-sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
“Me too,” Blythe told her honestly. She’d always liked Sophie. She seemed a bit naïve and too nice, if there was such a thing, but she liked her all the same. “Bye.”
Sophie gave her a distracted wave as she headed out of the small room. She was already looking down at her cell phone and her thumbs were in motion as she typed and walked at the same time.
“Hi,” Blythe said nervously as she looked up at Sawyer.
He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Hi. It’s nice to formally meet you. I’m Sawyer McClay. My friends call me Squirrel.”
Blythe’s lips quirked. “I’m Blythe Coopman. It’s nice to meet you. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to call you Sawyer.”
“You can call me anything you want.” He let go of her hand and sat in the bedside chair, then leaned over, supporting himself with his elbows on the edge of the mattress. “What happened?”
Blythe sighed. “In a nutshell, these two guys were robbing a couple. I called nine-one-one and intervened.”
Sawyer frowned at her. “That wasn’t smart.”
“I know that,” Blythe retorted. “But was I supposed to ignore it? Let them get hurt or killed? I mean, I hadn’t planned on making a trip to the ER tonight. But there I was, trying to sleep under my trash can, and I couldn’t help but hear Dog and Tweek yelling at the poor couple, whose only crime was probably trying to walk to their car after seeing a show.”
“Fuck,” Sawyer swore as he leaned back in his chair. His head tilted up so he was looking at the ceiling, giving Blythe an unencumbered view of his Adam’s apple and corded neck. A neck she wanted to lean forward and lick.
She chuckled at the inappropriate thought.
Sawyer’s head came down and his eyes narrowed as he gazed at her. “What the hell can be funny right about now?”
She shrugged, biting her lip to keep her thoughts to herself.
Sawyer continued to look pissed for a second, but then his lips quirked up into a grin. “It’s impossible to stay in a bad mood around you. How much painkiller did they give you?”
Blythe shrugged again.
“I’m sorry you were hurt, baby. I’m so sorry.”
“Baby…?”
“Sorry. It just keeps popping out.”
Maybe it was the drugs, but she secretly liked the term of endearment. “I’m sorry I was hurt too,” Blythe told him. “But you know what?”
“What?”
“They got away.”
“Who? The thugs who dared to touch you?”
Blythe shook her head. “No. The couple. He was so protective of her. You know that song by Tim McGraw?” Her voice was a bit slurred from the drugs as she spoke.
“Which song?” Sawyer’s voice was low and even. He didn’t take his eyes from hers.
Blythe wrinkled her brows, trying to think of the name of it and having a hard time concentrating. “It starts out with a boy mad at his dad for letting the girl next door come on a fishing trip with them…um… Oh! I know! Don’t Take The Girl. That’s the one.”
“Yeah, baby, I know the song.”
“It was as if the man were the living embodiment of that song. You know, the part when the couple is held up and he begs the guy not to take his girlfriend?”
“I’ve heard it.”
Blythe sighed. “He was so upset for his girlfriend or wife or whatever. Keeping his body between her and Dog and Tweek. The woman looked more pissed than scared, but still. You think she’s okay?”
Blythe didn’t even register Sawyer’s touch on her arm as he spoke. She was thinking too hard about the couple.
“I’m sure she is.”
“Good.”
They were interrupted by a voice from the doorway. “I’m Doctor Adams. You’re Blythe Coopman?”
“Last time I checked, yeah,” she said, rolling her head because it was too heavy to pick up to look at the doctor as he entered. He was wearing a long white coat and had a stethoscope around his neck. “You look like a doctor,” she blurted.
Doctor Adams chuckled. “It’s a good thing, since I am one.” He looked at Sawyer. “I’m going to have to ask you to step out.”
Blythe gripped Sawyer’s arm with her good hand and shook her head. “No. Please. Let him stay?”
The doctor looked between Sawyer and Blythe for a long moment, assessing. Then he nodded. “You’re a friend of Sophie’s, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Sawyer responded. “And I’m a firefighter. Station 7. This isn’t our normal route but I was here when the building next door burned down. I know this is unusual, but Blythe’s family isn’t around and she’s scared. She was
assaulted tonight, and I don’t want her to feel alone.”
“You’re sure you want him to stay?” the doctor asked Blythe. “We’ll need to discuss your health history. Are you okay with him hearing that?”
Blythe nodded. “It’s fine.”
The doctor stepped up to the side of the bed that Sawyer wasn’t sitting on. He reached for the sheet. “All right then, let’s take a look and see what the damage is, yeah?”
Squirrel clenched his teeth and barely held himself together as the doctor examined and treated Blythe. The first thing he’d seen when her gown had been lifted was the scratch marks on her lower belly. Compared to the three knife wounds on her upper torso, the scratches were negligible—but he saw them for what they were.
The asshole who’d hurt her had tried to get her pants off. His filthy hands had scratched the hell out of her belly.
He took a huge breath through his nose to try to control himself, the smell from Blythe reminding him of her situation…and his lack of action.
She’d been sleeping with the trash. He didn’t give a shit about the smell. He could take care of that quickly enough. But the wounds she’d suffered wouldn’t disappear as easily.
“It looks like the knife wounds should heal pretty well,” the doctor told her as he took off his gloves. He’d just stitched her up and was giving her follow-up care instructions. “They weren’t terribly deep. You were lucky. That wound on your hand needs to be watched, though. Don’t use it, if at all possible. And it should be kept wrapped and clean for at least two weeks.”
Blythe nodded.
“I’ll write you a prescription for painkillers. Use them. Don’t try to be a hero,” he scolded.
Squirrel saw Blythe’s eyes shift to the right, then back to the doctor’s. “Okay.”
He sighed, knowing she had no intention of filling the prescription. How could she? With no insurance and probably no money, she didn’t have the means to do so.
“I’ll take care of it, Doc,” Squirrel told the other man.
Without pause, Doctor Adams nodded. “Good. There’s a detective waiting outside to talk to you, if you’re feeling up to it.”
“Do I have a choice?” Blythe asked, her words almost slurring.
“Yes, you have a choice,” Squirrel answered. “If you’re too tired or can’t deal with it tonight, you can do it tomorrow.”
“But it’s already tomorrow, isn’t it?”
He refrained from rolling his eyes, barely. “Yeah, technically it is.”
“I…I’ll see him now. I don’t know when I might have a chance to get to the station to talk to him.”
Squirrel heard the doctor leaving but didn’t spare him a glance. He sat on the bed at Blythe’s hip and leaned over her. He put his hands on the mattress on either side of her shoulders and gazed down at her. Her short dark hair was cut unevenly and was dirty and disheveled. She had smudges of blood on her cheek and there were dark circles under both eyes. She was pale, dirty, disheveled…and the pain in her hazel eyes made him want to pick her up and hold her close. From what he’d seen earlier, she was too skinny for her frame. He wanted to take care of that for her…make sure she had the nutrition she needed to get healthy.
But first, he needed to make sure she understood what was happening next.
“You’re moving into Sophie’s old house,” he informed her, ignoring the way she opened her mouth to protest. “And I’m not letting you say no. She hasn’t lived there since she moved in with Chief. It’s right next door to them, though, so if you need anything, they’re right there. Tadd and Louise moved out not too long ago. They’d been living there while they got back on their feet after the fire. If it was okay for them, why isn’t it okay for you to do the same?”
Blythe stared up at him, clearly at a loss for words.
Moving one hand to brush a short lock of hair off her forehead, Squirrel continued, “It’s clean, in a safe neighborhood, and close to the fire station where I work. I let you convince me you were okay on the streets for way too long. The truth is, it’s not safe. Or healthy. And you know it.
“I like you, Blythe Coopman. A lot. And I can’t spend one more night worrying about you. Wondering if you’re hungry, cold, or safe. When I got that call from the detective tonight, the first thing I thought was that I was too late. That I’d dicked around too long and I’d never get the chance to really get to know you. I’m not dicking around anymore.”
He stared down at her, daring her with his eyes to defy him. Wanting her to try. She didn’t disappoint him.
“I’m not your responsibility.”
“You’re right, you’re not. You’re an adult who has taken care of herself for a long time. But you’re my friend. And friends don’t let friends sleep under trash bins if they can do something about it.”
Blythe licked her lips and closed her eyes. “I can’t think straight.”
“Good,” Squirrel countered smugly. Then he gentled his tone. “Please, Blythe. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.”
She looked up at him. “Why? Why would you want to help me? I’m nobody. Just another homeless woman on the street. I could be a whore, earning my money on my back. A druggie. I could steal Sophie blind if I stayed at her house.”
“But you’re not a whore, a druggie, or a thief,” Squirrel insisted. “And you’re not nobody. You’re Blythe Coopman. You’re the woman who could’ve spent thousands of dollars buying stuff when I gave you the code to my phone. I’ve got passwords stored in there for all sorts of websites. But you didn’t. The only people you’ve called are me, and the police now and then, and you’ve texted back and forth with my sisters.”
Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
His tone gentled. “Yeah, baby, I know about my sisters texting you. And I’m okay with that. My mom told me that Natalie was inconsolable after the boy she liked didn’t call her when he said he would. But after you texted with her, she was okay again. Your perspective on which boy Charlotte should let take her to the school dance was right on. And you were one of the first to congratulate Emma when she found out about that scholarship she won. They’ve been bugging me to bring you over to the house.”
“I’m sorry if I overstepped. I guess they didn’t know about your other number, or forgot or something… But Natalie was so upset that first time she texted, I couldn’t let her think you were ignoring her. H-How did you know I’ve been talking with them and why would you be okay with it?”
He didn’t hide the truth. “First off, I’m close with my sisters. Emma and I have talked about what college she should go to and which have the best pre-med programs. Charlotte is her opposite; all she wants to do is play her flute…in college and beyond. Natalie couldn’t care the least bit about academics right now…which boy might like her is all she’s interested in these days. My point is, they tell me almost everything. And they told me all about how awesome you were, and they want to know when they’re going to get to meet you in person.
“Secondly, Beth, my friend’s woman, is a master hacker. The second she learned I’d lost my phone, she tracked it. Then she hacked into it again once you finally used my passcode. When you wouldn’t let me help you, I told her to stop spying on you, but she still gave me weekly updates on who you were calling, texting, and what websites you were visiting, even though I asked her to quit. And lastly…”
Squirrel hesitated, but wanted to get it all out there now so she wouldn’t have a reason to get pissed at him and leave later.
“Every picture you’ve taken has been stored in my cloud.”
This time, Blythe closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, as if trying to pretend she didn’t hear him.
Squirrel put a hand on the side of her neck, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “They’re beautiful and sad at the same time. You have an eye for really bringing the emotion out in a simple picture. A child’s dirty hand, the food slopped onto a tray at the shelter, the rows upon
rows of bunk beds in the shelter, a piece of cardboard lying under a trash bin ready to be slept on…they’re heartbreaking and eye-opening at the same time.
“But not one picture you took makes me think less of you, baby. If anything, they make me more impressed. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but I’m here now. Let me help you. Let Sophie help. No strings attached. I promise.”
Her eyes stayed closed as she asked, “Will you stay with me when I talk to the detective?”
“Absolutely.”
“Does Sophie’s house have a shower?”
“Of course. I think it’s got two.”
She opened her eyes and looked up into his. “Will you ask the doctor if it’s okay for me to get my stitches wet? I’d kill for a hot shower where I don’t have to worry about anyone walking in on me or stealing my stuff while I’m preoccupied.”
Squirrel let out the breath he’d been holding. He’d been prepared to take her to Sophie’s by force if he had to. But she’d given in.
He moved without thought. Leaning close, his mouth brushed hers in a barely there caress. “You got it, baby. You can stand in the shower until your skin wrinkles up so badly, you’ll think you’re an eighty-year-old woman. I have it on good authority that the hot water tank in Sophie’s house is huge. You won’t regret this,” Squirrel added softly.
“I just hope you won’t.”
“Never. This day’s been too long in coming. The only thing I regret is not getting to you sooner.”
“I should’ve let you help me before now. I was stubborn, and it seems so stupid now,” she told him.
They stared at each other for a heartbeat, until the moment was interrupted by a low, irritated voice from the hall.
“Goddamn, it stinks in here.”
Pissed off on Blythe’s behalf, Squirrel stood and crossed his arms over his chest. He stood by the side of the bed as if he were a sentry.
Within seconds, a police officer stuck his head in the door. “This the homeless woman who was assaulted?”
“You better check that attitude, Kirkpatrick,” Squirrel threatened. He knew the officer, had met him a few times at various emergency calls they’d been at together.